


in the morning (we'll be better)

by moribund_slutt



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hope it makes you feel better, M/M, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Smoking, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve is nervous, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, as he should be, billy is a sweetheart in this one, i cannot stress enough, this is purely fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moribund_slutt/pseuds/moribund_slutt
Summary: Billy fucking hates the holidays. He hates Hawkins and the fact that he hasn’t been able to pack his shit up and leave even though he graduated months ago. He hates his asshole father. He hates being here and having fucking nothing to do and being shit on and beat on for not doing anything. He even hates parties like these, cause he’s surrounded by losers who will never make anything of themselves and it just reminds him that yeah, he’s one of those losers. It’s too much and not enough and Billy’s just sick of waiting for things to be better when they should just be better.--Billy finds Steve at a party.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	in the morning (we'll be better)

**Author's Note:**

> I am back with this and it feels good. I'm super proud of this. I think we all need a little bit of love to start off this new year. Let me know what you think! I promise I'll be back soon.

In that dead week between Christmas and New Year’s, when winter leans in with heavy hands, when the local losers throw ragers to cling onto their high school days, when there is nothing to do but wait, Billy crushes a cigarette butt under the tread of his combat boots, knocks back a shot of everclear, and stumbles into a crowd of loose-limbed and sweaty bodies. 

He really doesn’t know anyone here, or maybe he does and everyone in this town is just fucking forgettable. He sees Tommy and Carole, the prissy little bitch that Harrington dated with her lurker boyfriend, but no Steve. He tries to ignore the drop of his stomach at that realization, but he tries to ignore it. It’s not like Steve would even want to see him. He walks into the dance floor and Tommy H. throws a slick arm around Billy’s shoulders, spilling beer onto his arms, and he just shrugs his arm off.

“Having a good time, Hargrove?” Tommy asks, shouting over the din.

“Yeah, just peachy.” Billy rolls his eyes.

“You found a pussy to fuck yet? I could always introduce ya to Carole’s cousin. She’s not that hot but she’s got nice tits.”  
  


“I think I can handle myself.” Billy says, moving further into the crowd and ignoring Tommy’s laughing. The music switches to some Christmas song which makes Billy want to punch the DJ. Christmas is fucking over and it wasn’t hot shit to begin with. 

Billy fucking hates the holidays. He hates Hawkins and the fact that he hasn’t been able to pack his shit up and leave even though he graduated _months_ ago. He hates his asshole father. He hates being here and having fucking nothing to do and being shit on and beat on for not doing anything. He even hates parties like these, cause he’s surrounded by losers who will never make anything of themselves and it just reminds him that yeah, he’s one of those losers. It’s too much and not enough and Billy’s just sick of waiting for things to be better when they should just be better. 

Kendra from his senior year calc course catches his eye and stumbles drunkenly over to him, pawing at his chest and pressing her face into his neck.

“You look so hot tonight, Hargrove.” She says. “Always wanted to get under you.”

Billy doesn’t say anything, just grabs her by her waist and begins to sway to the music. He figures he might as well put on a show. No one knows he’s a queer, and he doesn’t think anyone would be able to tell, but the fear of Neil having any reason to think so spurs him on. Kendra presses her lips to his neck leaving behind her lip gloss and saliva and Billy feels nauseous. 

“We should go somewhere a little more private.” Kendra says, sliding her hand down from his chest to grab at his cock. Billy feels like he’s going to throw up as she keeps pawing at him, and even imagining that it’s someone else, someone more _male_ , maybe with brown eyes and doe eyes and is a fucking dork, doesn’t really help. Kendra doesn’t get the hint when he removes his hands from her waist and sloppily bites into his neck. 

Billy pushes her off of him, ignoring her upset, grabs a half empty vodka bottle off of a counter, and walks upstairs into Tommy H’s bedroom. No one’s in there fucking yet so he takes a thirsty swig and crashes on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s got those fucking glow-in-the-dark star stickers everywhere and if Billy wasn’t quickly getting drunk, he’d march back downstairs to give Tommy shit about it. Tonight though, he can’t even bring himself to care. He doesn’t even care about Tommy anyway, he’s always just been convenient, a small-town shield to protect Billy from risking being himself. It’s whatever, he’s had to deal with worse.

He knocks back the equivalent of another shot or two of vodka and places the bottle on Tommy’s nightstand. He thinks back to the other night when Neil threw him against a wall for getting back two minutes after curfew, or maybe for how long his hair is now, or the fact the he was dressed like a _fag_ , and curls a hand under the back of his head, still sore. Months ago when he graduated, he had a stupid naive dream that it would all be over. He’d be able to get out of town, never see Neil again, and actually live his fucking life. But Neil, the dick that he is, found his lockbox of savings in his closet and took all the fucking money. Billy looked like a fucking murder victim after he confronted him, but he had a right to be pissed. 

A draft blows through the room and Billy grumbles, wondering why the fuck the window is open in the middle of the fucking winter. He pushes off the bed and moves over to the window to close it when he notices that there’s a little ledge that leads up to the roof. Just a few feet away he sees Steve sitting, nursing a beer and smoking a cigarette, and really Billy should just leave the window open and go back downstairs, forget he saw anything, but he doesn’t want to. He finds himself climbing out of the window, even though he’s going to fucking freeze, and climbs up the ledge onto the roof.

Steve doesn’t see him at first. There’s still a chance for him to turn around and avoid _whatever the hell_ is going to happen which likely will just be Steve yelling at him or telling him to fuck off or something. Just the sight of Steve like this though, alone, pretty as all hell in the moonlight, hair lit up all blue, lips soft and pink, well it’s enough to make Billy freeze like a deer in the headlights and take every fucking detail in. 

He shivers and rubs his shoulder which prompts Steve to look up. Billy thinks there’s a moment where Steve doesn’t even recognize him at first and hell, wouldn’t that be the cherry on fucking top, but then his eyes furrow in frustration? Shock? Both? Billy really doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to hang around to find out but then Steve speaks.

“Found my hiding place,” Steve says. “Want a smoke?” 

“Sure,” Billy says like he’s pathetic which he is but he doesn’t need someone else knowing that. He walks over and sits real close to Steve, probably too close for any good reason, but if Steve notices he doesn’t say anything. 

Steve just nods and produces a pack of Lucky Strikes from his side which makes Billy snort. The other boy must realize why because he rolls his eyes. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, you’re not getting anything.”

“Chill Harrington, I won’t tell on you and your girly taste in cigarettes.” Billy snatches one from the box, places it between his lips, and leans down to where Steve has his lighter open. 

He’s real close to Steve’s mouth and it’s enough to make him swoon. Shit, maybe he’s the girly one. But he moves away, takes a drag and exhales to his side to avoid smoking in Steve’s face. He might be imagining it but for a second it looks like Steve’s lips have quirked up. 

“Some party, huh?” Steve says and Billy doesn’t really know what he’s getting at, if he’s getting at anything, or if he’s just making small talk. When did Harrington get so in-fucking-scrutable?

“I guess, kind of shitty. Don’t know what else I expect from Tommy though.” 

“Ain’t that the truth, man.” Steve says.

Billy rolls his eyes and lets out a hesitant laugh. He doesn’t say anything, it already feels like he’s treading on thin ice and he doesn’t want to disturb whatever this is. He takes another drag and blows some smoke rings. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Steve with one eyebrow raised. 

“Nice party trick,” Steve says, all droll, which just makes Billy smirk. If someone had told him an hour ago he’d be smoking on the roof with Harrington, he wouldn’t know whether to punch them or kiss them. Granted, he feels like the other boy might just push him off the roof at any given second and, to be fair, he’d probably deserve it. He’s liking this little detente…lets him pretend for a second that he’s someone else. Or, maybe, it lets him pretend he’s really himself. He’s not quite sure what the difference between the two are at this point, but he’ll take what he can get. 

“What’re you still doing around town, Harrington?” Billy asks. “I’d have thought that _the_ King Steve would be off and about doing some big boy shit in a city or something.” 

Billy dares to look over to Steve, who still is looking fuckin’ ace, even with a kind of sheepish look on his face. 

“I… uh, was in college for a year but I kinda flunked out. Guess everyone was right about me being dumb.”

Billy lets out a hum and shakes his head. He’s a little surprised. He’s thought a lot of things about the other boy, but never that he was dumb. There’s an insult right on the tip of his tongue, something real mean, habit and all that, but instead he just says “You’re not dumb, Harrington, but even if you were, s’all right. You’re too pretty to be smart anyway” like a real dumbass.

But Steve just laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, sure man.”

“Just speaking the truth, pretty boy.”

“What about you, Hargrove? What’re you still doing in a shitty little hick town like this?” Steve says, and he sounds genuine, which is more than Billy gets on a daily basis.

He could lie. It’d be easy to come up with a bullshit reason. But it’s late and he is so, so tired, kind of drunk too, and at this point he thinks that Steve deserves the truth from him; it’s the least he can give him after all the shit he’s put him through. _Fuck_ , he used to be so angry all the time, and hell he still is, but mostly at Neil and the rest at himself. After… what happened in September, he doesn’t want to be that guy who puts others in his line of fire anymore. He doesn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he did. And, truthfully, he likes Steve, he _really_ likes Steve, always fucking have since that first party when he moved to Hawkins. So much has changed since then and nothing has changed, really.

“My old man took all my savings. Couldn’t go to the school I got into cause I couldn’t pay for it. So here I am.” Billy says. Just saying the words makes him want to punch something. 

Steve looks like he doesn’t know what to say, lips pressed slightly apart, and running a hand through his hair. Then, stupidly, “Shit, man, that’s messed up.” 

Billy just lets out a heartless laugh. Of course Steve wouldn’t care. Why would he? “Ain’t that the truth.” 

“No, really. Har--Billy, I’m sorry.” And it sounds like he is, at least to Billy’s ears.

And, no. None of that. If Steve keeps being all fucking soft and cute like that, Billy’s going to cry because no one has spoken like that to him since his mom died. Part of him wants to cry, too, just completely break down and shit. He’s tired of having to hold himself together all the time, tired of having to be strong, tired of always being scared. And here’s Steve, the one really good person in this hellhole actually caring about him, at least to some degree, and it’s enough to make him want to unravel. 

“Thanks, pretty boy,” Billy says softly, flicking the remains of his cigarette off the roof into a snowbank below. 

Steve offers him another cigarette. Billy takes it, leans in again to Steve’s hand, and Steve moves closer to offer his lighter again. Their thighs are almost touching and when Billy’s got his cig lighted, the other boy doesn’t move away. Even in the cold, and fuck it’s cold, Billy suddenly feels flushed and warm. 

“Look at us, bunch of townie losers. Who would’ve thought?” Steve says, knocking his shoulder against Billy’s, and Billy falls into himself a little.

“Speak for yourself, Harrington. I’m still hot shit.” 

“Yeah, you are.” Steve laughs and Billy just lightly punches his shoulder, making him laugh even harder. “What’re you doing here?”

“Already told you, pretty boy. My dad stole all my cash.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I mean _here_. Like out here, with me right now. I’m sure you’ve got better things to be doing.”

“Believe it or not, Harrington, but you’re better company than anyone downstairs.” Billy says, all sweet like, which he’s hoping he comes off as. Even if Steve punches him and calls him a dirty queer at some point, Billy going to pull at every thread he can until this ends.

“Yeah, sure. Might’ve been true for like... a year in high school, but no one cares about me anymore.” 

Which, well, Steve’s gotta be fucking delusional, because that’s simply not true.

“Thought I told you weren’t dumb. There’s plenty of folks who care about you.”

“Like who? My parents who threw me out for dropping out of college? Blew all my savings getting my own place. Not getting out of this place for a real long time.” Steve says mirthlessly, flicking his cigarette stub over the edge. It lands near Billy’s.

Billy swallows hard. “That’s fucked. At least you got out though, right? And I’m sure there’s a whole lot of people downstairs who care about you.”

“Man, I wish I was living the way you thought I was. Not a single person down there would care if I showed up or not.”

“Steve…” Billy begins, because the other boy looks like he’s hurting, which just ain’t fair, but Steve cuts him off.

“No, Billy, I don’t think,” Steve says, “that anyone would notice if I disappeared. I think that if no one saw me for a few months then it’d be like I just never existed. And I know that sounds fucked up man, and I know it is, but it’s true.” He kicks his feet back and forth over the ledge, laces undone and dangling. 

“It’s not, Harrington. You’ve got that little curly haired freak, my sister for some fuckin’ reason, the dyke you scooped ice cream with that summer, the other kids that you spend all your time with. You’ve got...” Billy rubs his palms together and Steve scoffs. “Me. I wouldn’t forget you.” 

Steve looks at Billy, one hand tugging at the hair behind his ear. Someone downstairs shouts and everyone yells along to a song over the speakers which, up here, just sounds like bass. Billy can’t bring himself to make eye contact and instead looks past Steve at the horizon, the thin curve of the moon, the bared trees. 

“Yeah?” Steve says softly and Billy thinks he might have imagined it over his blood thrumming in his ears. And then, “You know that much about me?”

“Yeah, I -- I wouldn’t be able to fucking forget you if I tried.” Billy answers, ignoring the second part of the question.  
  


“I bet you say that to all the guys you’ve fucked up.” Steve says, sotto voce, but Billy still freezes.

_Fuck_. It all comes back down to that one night, doesn’t it? That one fuckin’ night where Billy showed everyone, Steve included, what kind of basket case he really was. He’s about to push his hands against the roof and take off, find wherever he threw his jacket and drive until he’s somewhere he’s never been but Steve lurches forward and grabs his wrist.

“Chill, Billy, I’m just pulling your leg.” His lip quirks up. “Water under the bridge and all that, unless you’re planning for a repeat.” 

“No,” Billy says, “not unless you give me a reason to.”

Steve barks out a laugh and lets go of Billy’s wrist. The skin where the other’s fingers were burns. The moon’s higher in the sky now just to the left of Steve who's got his head thrown back exposing his neck, and all Billy wants to do is fill in that gap between the moon and the boy beside him. 

He wants to plant his lips on his neck and leave a moon there too. He wants to keep hearing Steve say his name, his _actual_ name, and keep meaning it. When did he even stop calling him Hargrove and calling him Billy? He wants all these things, all these fucking things, and he knows he’s not going to have them. Because Steve is straight. And even if he wasn’t, Billy doesn’t deserve someone like Steve, someone good. He’s all messed up and it’s Neil’s fault, and part of it is Billy’s fault; he’s trying to be responsible for his own actions and all that shit. 

“God, I hate parties.” Steve says, looking out toward the other roofs. 

“Any reason why, pretty boy?” He almost doesn’t say the nickname, but if he can’t have what he wants, then maybe he can come close. Maybe he can even pretend. At least for now. 

“Too many people. Shitty music, shitty drinks …” 

“Shitty people?” He flicks a random cigarette stub off of the roof. 

“No,” Steve says, still not looking at him. “Not everyone. There’s some alright ones, I think.” 

Billy doesn’t say anything, just picks at a thread at the tear in his jeans. His body fucking hurts with how much he wants. He thinks about Max and how she got together with her little boyfriend within weeks of them moving here and how nothing in his life has ever even gotten that close to being easy. He even wonders what Max would do right now if she was in this situation with her boyfriend. She’d probably grab his hand or kiss his cheek or whatever and Billy would do that if he was a hundred percent certain that he wouldn’t get decked, or murdered by Neil if he somehow found out. He doesn’t think that Steve would be a violent homophobe or anything given that his best friend is a lesbian, but Billy’s been realizing lately just how fucking on edge his is and he doesn’t want to risk it. 

“I’m sorry, y’know.” It’s barely even a whisper, but it’s as much as he can get out, and he’s reassured by the fact that there’s a gust of white air in front of him assuring him that he actually said it. 

That gets Steve to look at him. “About what?”

“You know what Ste- Harrington.”

The other boy’s mouth just hangs open a little, then his lips press together and he nods. “Uh, thanks man. I figured, I mean I hoped, I --”

Billy rolls his eyes. “I know it’s hard, but use your words, pretty boy.” 

Steve punches his shoulder. “Whatever, thanks, Billy.” 

“Yeah, sure, Steve.”

And Steve smiles at the sound of his name, and Billy wants to, but won’t let himself. That’d be too obvious, and it’s pathetic as hell but he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost this tentative peace with Steve. This is as much as he’s going to get with the other boy so he wants to savor it, make it last. 

He should probably leave before he does or says something he regrets which, given it’s him, will happen if he keeps at it. Isn’t that what Neil says all the time, that the doesn’t fuckin’ listen and won’t shut his stupid mouth? His dad’s an asshole, but Billy thinks he isn’t wrong. So, he yawns, and stands, and tries to ignore the swell of disappointment in his stomach. 

“I think I’m going to head out, pretty boy.” And god, if Steve looking up at him, waist-level, with those doe eyes isn’t the prettiest sight, he doesn’t know what it is. “Party’s kinda lame and you’ve got better things to do than hang with the local problem kid.”

“Alright, Billy.” Steve says, standing, placing an arm on Billy’s shoulder. _Calm down. Calm down. Calm down._ “I’ll see you around.”

Billy might just be fuckin’ wishing, but it almost sounds more like a question than a statement. It sounds like _can I see you again_ , which is dumb because there’s no reason why Steve would want that, but he lets himself have a little bit of hope. 

He smirks, all shark-toothed. “I’ll be waiting.”

Steve drops his hand, almost laughs, and Billy turns and heads back downstairs, pushing through the crowd of townies, grabbing his leather jacket off the chair he left it on, nodding goodbye to Tommy and Carole, and stepping out into the cold again. He shrugs his jacket on and makes his way over to the Camaro. 

When the side door shuts, he rests his chin against the steering wheel and looks up at the roof. Steve’s still sitting there, feet still kicking back and forth, moon stuck in the sky beside him. Billy lets out a steady breath and memorizes every detail of the scene. He’s a fuckin’ romantic, he knows that, so he doesn’t even feel ashamed. When a minute or two has passed, he throws his head back and just keeps thinking. The liquor’s slowly leaving his system but he feels drunk as hell. Something knocks at the glass and he darts up, ready to fucking rip up some hapless drunk freshman, but when he looks out the sideview window it’s _Steve_.

He rolls the glass down probably faster than he’s ever done in his fucking life. Steve looks nervous and Billy has no idea what he’s doing here, but he sure as hell is not going to complain. Steve leans forward, resting his hands where the glass was, and just kind of leaning in. 

“Thought I missed you. Glad I didn’t.” Steve says and Billy’s pretty sure that his heart is going to fuckin’ burst. It’s taking all his willpower not to move forward and kiss Steve like he’s been wanting to for _years. He’s straight_ , he repeats to himself, _he’s straight he’s straight he’s straight._

“What’s up, pretty boy?” He forces it out and it must sound all strung out, but he lets himself appreciate the fact that he was actually able to respond. 

“Do you want to get burgers or pancakes or whatever or….” Steve scratches at his ear.

Billy just stares. He’s dead. He must’ve fallen off that roof cause there’s no way in hell that Steve’s actually here, like right _here_ , asking to get food with him. Or, if he’s not dead right now, he’s going to be dead soon because it probably isn’t fucking healthy how fast his heart is beating and how stressed he feels. _Calm down_. He knows he’s a queer but there’s no reason why he as to be this much of a queer. Just his fucking luck that he can’t play anything cool. 

“Oh, uh, forget I said anything.” Steve says, turning his head out to the side.

That snaps Billy out of it. He lurches forward, grabbing at Steve’s wrist before he can walk away. The other boy’s skin is hot under his touch. Steve looks back and catches his eyes. They’re wide, he’s sure his own are too, all pretty and his lips are pursed like he’s both confused and wants to say something. Maybe he’s regretting coming down here, Billy knows, but he doesn’t want to give Steve time to regret. 

“Get in the fucking car, pretty boy.” He says, and he lets himself grin and _hope_. “Let’s go get you your pancakes.” 


End file.
